Clean Slate
by MD14
Summary: O/S - So this evening it's raining. And this evening she's standing outside his window, and they're just watching each other on either side of the pain.


**A/N: Confession, I didn't really have a clear plan of where this was going beyond the first 200 words, it just kind of came out. I think it's probably the most mellow reconciliation with the least words spoken. K, maybe not... whatever. THANK YOU to cabooklover21 for the prompt.**

* * *

Rain's a romantic thing, right?

It's Paul fighting for Holly, leaning into the cab, giving her one last talking to. Telling her there's no happiness unless you belong to somebody and somebody belongs to you.

_"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, 'Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness.'"_

It's Noah telling Allie he never gave up, telling her he wrote her every day for a year. Screaming at each other.

_"It wasn't over. It still isn't over."_

It's Melanie realizing that Jake wanted to become somebody for her. Her discovering she didn't want anyone but him, that she'd never be able to leave again.

_"What do you wanna be married to me for anyhow?"  
"So I can kiss you any time I want."_

It's this gesture of passion and emotional downpour. It's the most romantic kisses and the corner stone and turn around to everything that had died and gone downhill. It's the fighting before the clean slate that can only come after a heavy rain fall.

So this evening it's raining. And this evening she's standing outside his window, and they're just watching each other on either side of the pain.

* * *

He'd gone to his window to see how hard it was raining, what weight of jacket he'd need for his run tonight. Still a little bit of afternoon light left, might as well use it. That's when he saw the dark figure across the street, just staring at the house. First he had no idea it was her. At first he thought he ought to go and check it out, make sure they weren't a danger to the neighbourhood, but once she raised her head a little, he could see the face under the hood, he knew, and he was stuck to his spot there.

He didn't even know she was coming home. When he found out she was gone, he tried so hard to stay angry, not question it. She left, big fucking deal. But she left, to go undercover. The last time he did that he was nearly tortured then beaten to death. If something happened to her, god forbid something happen to her, he wouldn't be able to accept that he had just stayed angry. That he didn't try to make her as safe as possible.

But when he asked around Luke was keeping things under tight wraps. He was basically Fort Knox. Sam cornered him at the Penny one night, just wanted to know if she was in the city, if he had a hope of running into her even. Luke told him she was fine, she was with Nick, and they were doing good work.

So yeah, he didn't know she was coming home.

He heard the time frame, six months. Six months was the standard tall tale that handlers gave you. He was supposed to be under six for Hill, he'd been going on nine when she took him out. But here she was, six months later, to the week, and she was standing outside in the pouring rain. Didn't even take shelter on his porch, just stood there, letting the rain pelt down on her.

He had no idea if she could see him, she had no idea if he could see her. They were just waiting for a sign. She was waiting to find out if they could have it out in the rain, if they could ever have a clean slate.

He didn't even consider how cold she might be out there until he sees her hands cross her chest and rub her biceps, trying to warm up. And he knows he can't leave her out there. She's wearing a rain jacket shell, but clearly it stopped doing its job a long time ago.

He lets his curtain fall shut, and moves the couple steps over to the door, grabs the umbrella from its stand, and opens the door.

The minute she sees it open , she feels like an idiot. Like a cliché, like a teenage girl who forces her boyfriend to reenact movie-like scenarios. What she wants to do is run, but he'd just chase her down and then things would be really awkward...

She sees him put up an umbrella as he moves down the steps from his porch, and he jogs to where she is. The closer he gets, the more she feels like her oxygen supply is being cut off, the more her hands tremble, and it's not from being soaked to the bone anymore.

He looks really good, she notices. He looked, slimmer, and somehow still built. Maybe he was doing something different for training. Last year he got really into weight lifting, and boxing. Maybe he'd started going running...

Regardless he looks good. He looks less tired than he had six months ago, his face looks less pale. She knew he wasn't eating a lot after Jerry. Knew he wasn't sleeping. No one had to tell her, she just knows how he gets. How he was grieving.

If she thought her legs could carry her, she'd move to him, despite not being able to breathe.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He calls, still across the street, looking both ways before crossing over to her. She gives him a little smile, as if to say 'I know I'm ridiculous'.

"I really like going for walks!" She calls back. He's only a few steps in front of her know, and it'd be close enough if he weren't trying to shield her from the rain. But he keeps moving towards her until she's covered and they're basically toe-to-toe.

The rain is louder under the umbrella, and now what's chilling her is the breeze. Sam should've brought her a new jacket, he realizes, but instead, he takes his off, and begins to unzip hers.

She stops moving for warmth immediately when his hands touch her zipper. This is the closest she's been to him since she held the grenade, and the thought alone warms her from inside out.

He's got it half way unzip before he realizes how inappropriate that was, and that he didn't even ask, or offer it to her. He pulls his hand back slowly, and she watches him watch the zipper, just under her chest.

"Come inside, or let me drive you home." He insists, loudly over the rain.

"No, I should go, this was stupid. I'll see you at work." She starts walking backwards until she feels the rain drops hit her hood again, and returns to his shelter. It's started raining harder since she got there, and the sky is darkening even more.

"At least let me drive you. I'll grab you some dry clothes..."

She realizes that's the rational thing to do, and nods. Actually, the rational thing to do would've been staying at home, but it's a little late for that now.

They walk shoulder to shoulder back up to his house, and once they're inside he grabs the blanket off of his couch and wraps it around her shoulders securely. He moves to the stairs, and she follows him up.

When he leads into the bedroom she hesitates for a minute, all the memories in there, she just doesn't really feel like trying to have this all out today was such a good plan. She's too cold, and now being inside, it's not how she thought it would go.

He digs out a pair of sweats and his red t-shirt, and places them on the bed.

"I'll be down stairs when you're ready." He says, before slipping past her, hardly looking her in the eye.

* * *

She takes her time upstairs, that's for damn sure. _'Probably taking a bubble bath or some shit.'_

And eventually he has to turn off the TV to make sure that that's not where she is, and that hasn't drowned in it. He's about to call out for her when he hits his bedroom, and sees her wrapped around his pillow, on top of the duvet. She got changed... at least.

She looks fast asleep, and he wants to get her up and out before he loses all strength and curls up behind her, bracketing her body with his own. Shielding her in from more than just rain.

While he can't actually see her face, she's turned away from him, she looks relaxed. Her eyebrows are probably the only things moving, which usually meant she's dreaming. That's something he remembers about her, she has a lot of dreams. She'll babble through them, usually non-sense sounds, but every once in a while he gets a word. He just talk right back to her, see if he could coax anything out of her.

One time he whispered Luke Callaghan and she replied with 'sqoosle'. So it doesn't mean much. But he killed a lot of time in the mornings that way. She was a late sleeper most weekends, him not so much. Right when she wakes up she'll rub her eyes and start telling him about it, but the memory slips away the further into she gets, and she's got nothing by the time breakfast rolls around.

He doesn't wake her though, feels like he can't. He just wanted to get her out of the fuckin' rain before, and now he wants to find some soup, heat it up, and stick her on the couch and watch the game. Any game.

He wants to pretend for a minute that the last eight months of his life never happened. That Jerry will call him in the morning to spar, that Andy's just passed out form a long shift, that he's going to get in beside her once he's taken care of turning off all the lights and brushed his teeth.

But they did. They did happen, and she said it was too late, and left.

And yet, there she is, on his bed, wrapped around his pillow.

Her leg moves, drawing his attention back down to her. She uses her toes to scratch her other calf, and then he hears her sniffle, and bundle the pillow even tighter in her arms. And he hears her let out some shaky sighs, that definitely make it sound like she's crying, or might start.

Two things he's sure of. One, she's awake. Two, Andy McNally does not cry.

"Hey," He says, announcing his presence, before he moves to the other side of the bed, so he can look at her. He squats down next to the bed so they're eye-to-eye. She'd definitely been crying, but she's long since stopped. The only evidence that's left is her red eyes, tear stained cheeks, and puffy, runny nose.

"Hi." She says, like she wants to just ignore that she's lying here like this. Wants him to ignore her vulnerability for the sake of her pride. "Sorry, I'm ready." She starts to push herself up off the bed, but he brings a hand to her shoulder, guiding her back down.

"No, wait a sec. What's going on?" He asks, gently. He wants to be mad at her so badly, but he can't bring himself to be that way while she's like this. He can't just start yelling at her when she's vulnerable, he wants her to be able to fight back. He wants her to be strong again.

"It's just stupid." She says simply, letting her head fall back onto the duvet. "I just... I thought I would come here, and we'd scream and yell and then everything would be better. But I'm just so sick of going over all of it in my head."

He rubs her shoulder a little, and watches her eyes well up again, and then watches her will them away.

"I've gone through all the scenarios, for six months Sam. Six months, of trading off the blame between you and me. Thinking about all the ways I could've handled it better, that we could've handled it better."

He nods, and decides that he wants to know what that is.

"What'd you come up with?" He asks at last.

"We're stupid." She laughs weakly.

He nods in agreement.

"What would you have done differently?" He asks, deciding that since they've got the ball rolling. He moves out of his crouch and sits on the floor, still right up close to her face.

"I would've stayed at the hospital with Traci and Noelle." She says after a long while. His face falls, he wasn't expecting that at all. He wasn't expecting her to trace what happened that far back. He was assuming she'd say she wouldn't have left, but this, it's too heavy.

He stares at her for a minute, and her tears start to make an appearance again.

"Andy," He begins carefully and hushed. "You know that might not have changed anything right?"

"But maybe it would've."

"You can't think like that." He says, rubbing a hand down her back, trying to ease her conscience. "If I could go back, I would've told you that I needed a little space. That I loved you- love you but I needed space."

Her eyes finally surrender one tear when he says it, and he almost doesn't correct himself, but seeing her like this, completely and totally open to him is something he fears and admires, and he can't let her go on thinking that this is irreparable.

"You would've?" She squeaks.

"I would've, if I'd known this is what could've happened, I would've told you all of it."

She has a short internal debate. She wants to hide everything that's going on behind her eyes, but also doesn't all at the same time.

She wants him to see how much it means to her, but she also doesn't want him to know he has that kind of power with those three simple words.

But, that's what love is. It's vulnerability, it's all the ugly out there on the table and still wanting it. It's the messy fights, and the torrid make up sex. It's kissing in the rain, and it's mundane. It's new and exciting and it's reliable and familiar.

It's him and it's her.

"Okay. Do you want space right now?" She says, searching his eyes for the rawness in hers.

He considers her question carefully for a moment. Thinks about everything that's happened, again, and everything they need to talk about. Thinks about the next weeks of _fighting_ for each other. How much of the ugly words, and bad reactions they threw around. Thinks about her leaving, but coming directly back to him.

He thinks about a dog named Boo.

He rises to his feet slowly, and motions aimlessly for her to sit up a little. When she does, she thinks he's asking for space, telling her it's time to go. But then he throws back the covers on the bed, and motions for her to crawl under. And she does, silently. He goes around to the other side of the bed, and throws back the duvet and top sheet, and gets in next to her.

There's a big gap, so he props himself up, and lifts his arm for her to move under, and curl up next to him. When she doesn't get the hint, he pulls her by the arm, and she's shocked, but obeys.

Her skin is still cold, and her hair is still wet, so he tugs the blankets up higher, burrows them into their comfort.

He hasn't held her like this in such a long time that he almost forgot how well they fit. How she _belongs_ there. How he belongs next to her.

"I don't want any more space." He says softly into her hair. "I want you, and me, to fight. And this time, you have permission to cuff me in a cell if I try to weasel out of that. But you have to fight too. Can you promise me that there's no more taking off in the middle of the night?"

"Unless you're with me, I promise." She mutters, tracing one finger across his chest.

"Good."

No more words were needed for the night.

It's him and it's her, and it's their clean slate.


End file.
